


Little Lark

by Ravens_Ire



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cinderella Elements, Fluff, Jealous Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, King Geralt, M/M, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Slave Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26739664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravens_Ire/pseuds/Ravens_Ire
Summary: The war represented the end of everything Jaskier had ever known, could a chance meeting with the elusive Witcher king change everything?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 105
Kudos: 286
Collections: Wasn't Quite Expecting This (But I Loved It)





	1. Broken Lute

**Author's Note:**

> Got inspired while watching Cinderella so there will be slight Cinderellaesq elements as well as buckets and buckets of fluff :D Not sure how I feel about the first chapter so let me know if you love it or hate it :)

Sunlight filtered through the trees, creating dappled shadows that swayed lazily across the forest floor. They crept across the scattered foliage and scurried across the gnarled bark of the trees. When the wind tired and died down, the once playful shadows settled as well. Geralt was grateful for the fickle weather. The wind was a welcome relief from the sweltering heat of the sun. The pleasant cool breeze swept through the chinks in his armor, cooling and drying the sticky sweat that plastered his shirt to the metal and leather that had become a sauna in the afternoon heat. But Geralt was less concerned with his comfort than the task at hand. The wind disturbed the foliage on the ground and pulled dried leaves from their weakened grip on their branches, scattering them to the floor. Every disturbance threatened to destroy the already threadbare trail he was attempting to follow.

With a disappointed groan he straightened, the sweat soaked clothing bunching uncomfortably across his torso. His group of Witchers had split up a few miles back when the trail had run cold. He hoped one of the other Witchers had found the trail. They had been on the road for weeks tracking the creature and the patience of the younger Witchers was wearing thin. Unused to the hard ground and tasteless food, their tempers ran hot and more than once this resulted in heated brawls breaking out as they trudged along. It had finally seemed like the end of their hunt was in sight when they had found splatterings of the creature's blood yesterday evening barely dry and unevenly coating the bramble bush it had run through. When they lost the trail this morning a gloom had settled over the group. Geralt couldn’t care less one way or another, he was more at home out in the woods than he was on the stiff throne back at the fortress anyway, but he was starting to develop a permanent headache from the incessant whining. They always silenced themselves when he leveled his glare on the bickering group but the set of their shoulders and the dragging feet spoke louder of their discomfort than their moaning did. Everything had changed so much over the past ten years. 

With the war came an influx of monsters unlike anything the world had ever seen. The piles upon piles of blood soaked decomposing corpses drew in the filth from the night. The once starving creatures now gorged with the flesh of the fallen reproduced with astounding swiftness. As human civilizations fell, the magical creatures that had been beaten into submission rose once again, reclaiming their territory and slaughtering or driving out the few humans remaining. The Witchers, who had been slowly fading into non-existence, suddenly were over-run with requests, but with their weakened numbers they could not combat the influx of creatures that had swept over the land. Facing extinction they retreated to Kaer Morhen to regroup and plan.

The abandoned kingdoms sent droves of representatives to the Witchers, offering contracts and treaties, promising trade deals, food, gold in exchange for them sending a single Witcher back to their territory. This created a predicament among the Witchers. They had always operated as separate entities, each individually deciding which jobs to take or where to wander. The elite of the kingdoms, unused to dealing with Witchers directly, demanded a representative, someone to direct their requests to. The Witchers had ignored the summons to begin with, more concerned with addressing the root of the problem than catering to the individual needs of a particular kingdom. But the requests became more insistent, the promises more extreme as the war continued and bodies piled higher. After weeks of deliberation the conclusion was reached that they could no longer operate separately. A Witcher caught alone by the ever increasing monster hoards would be decimated. In order to survive they needed to begin hunting in groups. Of course, with this new development, hierarchical and structural changes were essential. Now that they were headquartered in one place should they begin farming? Who would decide which groups were sent out and which stayed behind to train the new Witchers? Who would deal with the requests from the other kingdoms?

Geralt tilted his face to the sky, breathing in the smell of fresh pine wafting off the trees. It had been too long since he had been on a hunt. These days his clothes had been splattered with ink more often than blood, much to his regret. While he recognized the necessity of the changes and the responsibilities of his new position, he missed the days where it would just be him and Roach alone on the road, the only burden laid upon him the request he clutched in his hands. The new “kingdom” had quickly grown in riches and notoriety and the newfound respect that was granted towards the Witchers was pleasant but rang false from the mouths of diplomats and traders.

Apparently it was uncouth for the leader of the Witchers to go out on hunts requested from the other kingdoms. Geralt had been counseled that to join a hunt would show favoritism toward whichever kingdom’s request he took. With each of the territories still at each other’s throats in war, this would have shattered the delicate neutrality the Witchers had constructed. That is what made this hunt so sweet. The creature had holed up in Witcher territory so Geralt was free to do as he wished, and he wished to hunt. The creature had wandered out of Witcher territory sometime late morning yesterday but with the numerous treaties and agreements Geralt had been signing the past few years, the Witchers were well within their right to enter any kingdom’s territory in the hunt of a monster. 

He turned around and began to backtrack to where all the Witchers had split a few hours prior, wishing he had Roach with him to make the journey back faster, impatient to hear what the other Witchers had found. They had left their horses in the clearing. It would have been cruel to force the exhausted horses to follow them around as they carefully swept the ground for clues. He hadn’t gone far when he heard a cut off scream from the direction of the river. He hesitated, glancing up at the position of the sun, he was already running late. A cry of pain decided it for him, he pulled out his silver sword and ran toward the sound of rushing water, Eskel would make sure everything ran smoothly until he returned and they had set up precautions in case one of them became separated. The rough symbol language that the Witchers had developed over the past few years had made working as a group much easier. If they left without him he could just follow their markings.

He burst through the trees, startling the drowners that had been closing in on a small form curled against a tree. Their grotesquely bloated bodies twisted around and they hissed at him, spewing frothed saliva from their bloody lips. Ignoring their prey in light of the new threat, they left the shivering form to cautiously surround Geralt. One rushed towards him from behind, claws scrabbling against the worn river stones, Geralt smoothly turned and cut the creature from shoulder to hip. The two that were left were slightly more hesitant, circling him over and over, searching for an opening. He feinted forward then dodged to the side as they simultaneously leapt toward the dropped guard. He cut them down with ease. 

He cursed as he briefly checked the sun again, hastily wiping his blade clean and sheathing it.  
They must have left already. He crouched by the huddled figure, running a cursory glance over the form. The man was young, probably mid to late teens, his clothing looked expensive but undecorated, obviously not a pauper, a merchants son perhaps? A mop of brown hair hid his face from Geralt’s view but he could see a slight tremor in his shoulders. He didn’t have time to deal with this delicately. He roughly grasped one of the shoulders and gave it a hearty shake. 

“Hey kid, get up, I took care of the drowners.” His haste made him careless and he jostled the boy a little too hard, shaking him loose from his position against the tree. Geralt immediately released his grip and regretted it almost instantly as the boy went down like a sack of potatoes. The boy caught himself against the ground, only tensing slightly at the sharp stones that pricked his palms. Geralt stood there, hand half outstretched, not really sure how to rectify the situation. The face that turned towards him was handsome, the features more delicate than one would expect, more suited to a painting than a lad, but it didn’t matter how pleasant a face was to look at, it would soon twist into an ugly thing, full of disgust at the sight of a Witcher.

The boy took one look at his shocked face and burst out laughing. The sound was light and jovial and utterly confusing. It washed over Geralt, more refreshing than the breeze coming up off the water. Laughter was rare among the Witchers, was actually rare everywhere nowadays. A laugh untainted by spite was a true gift. But Geralt had never been very good at accepting gifts. He stood there frozen in bewilderment while the boy tried to get himself under control. 

“First of all, RUDE.” He gasped. “If this is how you go about rescuing damsels in distress no wonder people hesitate to laud you as heroes.” He shakily rose to his feet, leaning back against the tree again as he broke out once more in peals of laughter.

“I’m not a hero, I’m a Witcher.” Geralt replied dumbly.

“A Witcher you may be but unless you decide to shove me over again, I would say your actions today were pretty heroic.” The red rimmed crystalline blue eyes shone with sincerity as they warmly settled on his. 

“But-” Geralt didn’t know why he was protesting, it just felt wrong for someone to misjudge him so badly, he was seriously worried about the kid’s ability to judge character. “But I’m...frightening?” Surely the kid had somehow missed the scowl, the scars that marred his face.

The young man gave him an unsettling look, a storm settled over his eyes, “No, no you are kind.” He looked like he was going to say more but his eyes slipped past his face and settled on something over his shoulder.

Stringy arms shot forward and Geralt braced himself, he was a little surprised at the delayed violent reaction but it wouldn’t be the first time he was pushed away in fear. People instinctively shied away from his kind and when there was no where to run, they would often turn violent, fueled by their fear. He was caught off guard when, instead of pushing him away, the hands latched onto his shoulder guards and pulled him forward. Geralt was thrown off balance and crashed into the slight form in front of him. A chill shot through his spine when he felt a rush of air across the back of his neck. He whipped around to see a big black beast on spindly legs looking down at its clean claws like it was surprised they were not drenched in his blood. This was the monster they were chasing. It was especially difficult to track as it’s main form of attack was stealth, which explains why Geralt didn’t sense it until now. The creature backed up, seemingly unsure of what to do now that it’s surprise attack missed. It turned to run just as the rest of the Witchers emerged from trees, blocking its path. It hissed in frustration swaying back and forth on its long legs folded down like a crickets.

Roach had diverted from the group and ran up to Geralt nickering softly before assuming a battle stance. Geralt could still feel both the boy’s hands grasping at his shoulders, they were shaking again. The boy had buried his head in Geralt’s chest and was shivering like a leaf. The creature turned its attention back to them, still weighing its options. Geralt gently pulled the boy’s hands from his shoulders, they were soft and smooth like the petals of a flower. He gathered the tense body up in his arms before hoisting it onto Roach. The boy let out a little cry in panic as something tumbled to the ground at the sudden movement. Geralt was just about to release his hands from the boy’s waist when the boy started struggling, trying to get off the horses back. What in the world was the boy doing?! Did he want to die? He gave the boy a shove to put him off balance for a second before patting Roach, signaling her to take off. He caught a brief glimpse of the young man’s face, full of despair, before Roach carried him out of sight. He lightly plucked his sword from its sheath and with a gleeful grin rushed into the fray. 

It was only after the monster was well on its way to being picked apart that Geralt remembered the item that the young man had been reaching so desperately for. He moved back to the tree and picked up a case. He opened it carefully and inside was a lute, beautifully crafted, the wood a deep burgundy with intricate patterns etched into it. It would have cost a fortune if not for the large crack along the side. For a second Geralt felt guilty, his haste in throwing the boy onto the horse having destroyed such a treasure, but upon careful inspection he noticed the crack was old. There were no fresh splinters, the edges of the crack were worn smooth with time. If it held no value why had the boy looked so devastated at its loss? He looked up at Roach’s return, her back empty. He wasn’t surprised, she was trained to dump her burden at the nearest sign of civilization and return to the fight. The wood was smooth beneath his fingertips as he ran his hand over it once more before carefully locking the lute back in its unassuming case. His neck still tingled from the ghost of air that had so nearly been a killing blow. He thought back to that moment when the boy pulled him forward, his eyes had flashed with fear, but not at Geralt, the fear was for Geralt. What a strange notion, to have someone afraid for him was almost laughable. Those who didn’t know him were afraid of him and those he counted among his friends knew that he could take care of himself. 

Eskel approached him, eying the lute case with curiosity but not saying anything about it. 

“We’ve almost harvested everything valuable from the creature, are we to head back tonight?”

“Yes.” He looked down at the lute case with regret. Roach had been gone for nearly an hour, there is no telling where she went or where she dropped the boy off. He couldn’t leave the lute case here for the boy to retrieve either. The spray from the river would easily soak into the cheap case and damage the wood of the lute inside. With the exception of the large crack in the side, the instrument had been carefully cared for. He swung the case up over his shoulder, wrapping his cloak around it gently. With the amount of traffic the fortress got, surely someone would recognize the lute or have knowledge of the owner, in these dark times there were not many bards left.


	2. Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into Jaskier's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't supposed to be a long chapter but...here we are XD. Hope you like it!

Jaskier knelt by the water’s edge clutching the lute close to his chest. The water lapped up against his knees, soaking his soft trousers. Salty tears ran in curved pathways down his cheeks, gathering courage at his chin before jumping into the river, the ripples distorted the reflection of his puffy eyes. Normally he would be considered quite handsome, but the blotchy face and swollen eyes that looked back up at him from the water were ugly in their sorrow. He could never return to the estate looking like this. No, he stayed alive by playing his part as the perfect, obedient slave. Only breaking character one day a year. The lock on his window was easily picked, more a decoration used to complete the look of a gilded cage than a real deterrent to escape. His ankle still throbbed from his less than perfect landing, he ignored its whimpering in favor of attending to the wailing in his heart.

Another sob rose in his chest before breaking out, the force of it almost choking him. His throat ached from the depth of his sorrow and his heart lay in shambles. The years that passed did nothing to dull the pain, not when he had to face his family's executioners every day.

Many lost loved ones when the Nilfgaardians invaded their town but had quickly settled into normal life under the new rule. After all, it didn’t matter who was in power, it only changed which hands the taxes went into. For Jaskier, the Nilfguardean invasion changed everything. Jaskier was the youngest of a Noble household, he was already in bed when their home was invaded. He awoke to the sound of muffled shouts and splintering wood. 

9 years prior

__

_Julian blurrily opened his eyes when he heard something thump in the hallway. He glanced around the darkened room and drew his blankets up further around himself. It was mid-summer and his room was thick with heat but his blanket was all he had to protect himself from whatever creatures lurked in the dark. With trembling hands he tucked the edges of the blanket underneath his feet and curled himself into a ball beneath the thin material. His breath quickly filled the blanket, making the air stale and moist. He was just drifting back to sleep when another thump resounded in the hallway, this one accompanied by a shout of pain and the clash of metal. Julian froze in fear, he kept his back turned towards the door he could hear slowly creaking open._

__

__

_A few months ago he had finally gathered enough courage to join his older siblings around the evening meal to listen in on his older brother’s ghost stories. The sharp grins they leveled at him should have shaken his belief that now that he was 8 years old he was a man and wasn’t afraid of anything. That night he crept into his parents bed, unable to banish the images of drowners and banshees creeping through his window or hiding in his deep closet. Unfortunately for his parents, Julian was not a peaceful sleeper. The morning his father awoke with a foot to the face was the day he said enough was enough. They tried everything, a fortune was spent on candles to cover almost every open surface in his room. They set the servants on a rotating schedule to check in on the boy. Heavy locks and, at Julian’s insistence, chains were placed on the window. But everything made it worse. The candles cast long shadows that flickered and moved in a semblance of monsters creeping across the room. The locked windows made him feel trapped and waking up to the light footsteps of the servants padding across his room scared him half to death. His mother had dark purple bruises under her eyes to match the black eye his father was sporting._

__

__

_Julian hadn’t slept more than a few hours each night over the past week and he was asleep on his feet the day his family went to market. A stall received a shaky bow and an apology before Julian realized the brightly painted wood with the billowing table runner he had gracelessly run into was not in fact a lady. The men that milled around the stalls all bore a striking resemblance to his father to his blurry half closed eyes and he almost wandered after them a few times. After he nearly stumbled out in front of a carriage his father had stolen his hand and now held it firmly in his grasp. That was the day he saw his first Witcher. The armored man had been at one of the apothecary stalls with his horse trailing behind him. Julian spotted the shiny metal of the criss crossed swords across his back and instantly perked up, drowsiness shoved into a corner to be dealt with after the fascinating man was properly investigated. All the soldiers around his estate carried one sword that hung loosely at their waist. He didn’t notice his father’s look of disgust at the man’s back._

__

__

_“Father, who is that man over there, he’s not a knight is he?” He had seen enough knights to know the way this man carried himself was somehow different. It was still confident, self-assured, but beaten somehow. The knights paraded around like they owned the town, this man looked like there was nothing he would rather do than turn tail and flee._

__

__

_“It’s a Witcher, a monster hunter.” His father replied tersely._

__

__

_Stars shown in Julian’s eyes. “Monster hunter,” he repeated with awe._

__

__

_“Can we invite him to stay at our house!? He can sleep in my room, maybe we can hire him as one of the guards!” He ripped his hand out of his father’s and went sprinting across the road toward the Witcher. He ignored his father’s desperate calls and latched himself onto the monster hunter’s leg. It smelled like leather and sweaty horse hide but to Julian it smelt like safety. He knew he was cute and was used to getting his way, he was sure today would be no different. Eyes wide and star-struck he looked up at the Witcher with barely contained excitement. The Witcher looked down at him in horror. The Witcher shook his leg, trying to dislodge Julian but Julian just scrambled up a little further and wrapped his legs around as well, clinging to the Witcher like a koala._

__

__

_“Mister Witcher! Will you come stay with us? Please?” On command his eyes glistened with unshed tears and his lips formed into a perfect little pout. The Witcher just continued to look down at him, assessing his grip on his leg like it was a lock to be broken._

__

__

_The Witcher seemed to be immune to his cuteness, he really was a force to be reckoned with. Even his father crumpled under his pout, this made him want the Witcher more, he pulled out his secret weapon. “If you come keep the monsters out of my room I’ll share my jelly tart!” He released the Witcher’s leg with one hand and fished in his pocket, proudly pulling out the pastry, half smashed. He was very much looking forward to his treat but the promise of a monster hunter was much better._

__

__

_The Witcher’s eyes softened in understanding. In a gravelly voice he said “Now lad, you haven’t ever seen a monster have you?”_

__

__

_Julian rested his chin on the monster hunter’s knee and looked up into the man’s intense stare before shaking his head._

__

__

_“That is by design, I take care of the monsters before they can get to you. I’ll always be out here, fighting the monsters so you don’t have to.” He ruffled the little boy’s hair. Julian thought about that for a second before freeing the Witcher from his clutches, deciding that the logic was sound. Also, as a noble it wouldn’t be fair to keep the Witcher to himself if he was protecting the entire town._

__

__

_“Okay,” he conceded, “but you should still have the tart, my mother says you have to eat fruit to get big and strong.” He shoved the smashed tart into the Witcher’s hand, not noticing the sticky jam that smeared across the leather glove. The Witcher looked down at him in fascination before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a necklace, there was a small bottle at the end of the chain, filled with herbs. He pressed it into Julian’s hands, “A talisman, to keep the monsters at bay.” With that he turned and mounted his horse, riding out of the town without a backwards glance. His father had briskly patted him down, looking for injuries but Julian hardly noticed, staring after the Witcher with awe, the talisman clutched in his sticky fingers._

__

__

_He clutched at the talisman now, squeezing his eyes shut. He squeaked as an armored hand ripped his blankets back, the torchlight casting long shadows across the room but doing little to reveal the face of the assailant. Julian scooted back hastily to the head of the bed before he was lifted up by the neck of his collar by a rough grip._

__

__

_“Awe it’s just a little pup, look how cute he is.” Julian squeaked in fright as he tried in vain to pry the fingers off of him._

__

__

_“P-Please” Julian didn’t even know what he was asking. All he knew is he was scared and wanted his parents._

__

__

_“Such a lovely voice too, it would be a shame to kill them all, I’ve heard that you never feel closer to heaven than when you hear a Pankratz sing. I think I’ll take this one home with me.” He slung the trembling boy over his shoulder, Julian almost gagged when blood dripped down onto his face from the gloved hand. He was carried out of his home like a sack of flour, the small sobs ignored by his kidnappers. It was that night he learned there were monsters no talisman or Witcher could protect you from._

__

From that night on he was the property of Bresth, his little lark. He never saw his parents or siblings bodies, but he could guess at their fate from the blood splattered soldiers that escorted him to his new home. Bresth must have sent someone back to his house to gather some of his things as there was a pile of his clothing and toys at the foot of his new bed when he awoke the next morning. Among the wooden swords and stuffed dogs was his father’s lute. It would have been easy to mistake as a discarded toy, covered in dirt and gashed down one side. He used to pretend the gash in the lute meant his father had somehow survived, the tough wood taking the fatal blow instead of his father’s neck. But as the splinters in the wood wore smooth from his constant caress so wore away his hope at a rescue from this life. 

He should count himself lucky, did count himself lucky, as far as slave life went he was very blessed. Instead of renting out his body, Bresth rented out his music. He was not beaten for his mistakes as doing so might impair his playing, he was punished in other ways. For his first major offense his name was taken from him, he couldn’t even remember what he had done, but he still remembered the feel of having the last real connection to his old life stripped away. Bresth renamed him Jaskier, “A delicate name for a delicate face.”

Just holding the lute brought back memories of his father and the tears flowed harder. Even overwhelmed with emotion he was careful to hold the lute far enough away that his tears splattered on his fingers rather than on the aged wood. He was so lost in his sorrow he didn’t hear the approaching creatures until they were almost on top of him. When instead of his reflection he was faced with sharp teeth and gnarled faces he stopped mid-sob. It was like the sight of the creatures knocked the despair out of him, leaving him feeling pleasantly numb for a few moments before the fear kicked in. He stumbled backwards, letting out a shout of surprise and then one of pain when his head knocked against a tree. There was nowhere to run, the Drowners already had him surrounded. He locked the lute back in its case and wrapped his arms securely around it, turning his face towards the tree, bracing himself to be torn apart by the flesh-eating creatures. It was almost a relief, he would finally be with his family again.

A soothing warmth enveloped his shoulder, Jaskier instinctively leaned into it, taking comfort from the firm grip. Shifting his weight toward the hand proved to be a mistake as the brute the hand was attached to shook him roughly and he lost his balance, the sharp rocks and twigs dug into his palms, slicing the tender skin. The sting from the cuts ached as he brushed the dirt away, careful to avoid rubbing more grim into the wounds. He wasn’t mad, he had been thrown to the floor more times than he could count by rougher hands than this. Turning his face toward his savior turned assailant he was confronted with those large hands, held out hesitantly, like they wanted to take him in his arms but were afraid of the consequences. A gleaming wolf necklace glinted in the afternoon sun, a Witcher. Jaskier almost reached towards his own neck to grasp at the talisman he had been gifted as a child. But the hand stilled, remembering he wouldn’t have found anything there. In his role as the perfect doll, he dressed to suit the tastes of his owner. This generally meant tight leather pants and shirts with low swooping necklines. Bresth didn’t touch but he liked to look. With most of his chest exposed he didn’t dare wear the talisman for fear it would be taken away. Instead he wore jeweled collars and shimmering pendants, his treasured gift tucked safely under the floorboards of his room.

When his wandering eyes reached the Witcher’s face he was taken aback at the handsome features. His jawline and amber eyes were striking in their sharpness, the severe face only softened by the white hair gently framing his face. Jaskier had always appreciated the finer things in life, used to being dressed in soft silks and attending the wealthiest of parties as a glorified songbird, but the rugged beauty of the man in front of him made the finery he was used to seem fake and brittle in comparison. This man was unabashedly himself, dressed all in black, no adornments with the exception of his necklace identifying him as a Witcher. Part of his hair tied back messily into a half-tail. It made Jaskier want to reach out and run his fingers over his jaw, wanting to feel something rough, something real. 

It was only after he was able to subdue his fluttering heart he finally noticed the expression those hard features were drawn into. The amber eyes were round in surprise, his mouth hung half open, he looked horrified that he had thrown Jaskier to the floor. Jaskier could see no difference between the man in front of him and the hounds back at the estate when they leapt with unabashed joy onto the children returning home only to knock them into the mud. If Geralt had a tail he was sure it would be tucked between his legs in shame. The thought was so ridiculous a surprised laugh exploded from his chest.

The man looked almost offended by his lack of fear, adamantly refusing the title of Hero. But this man could not be less intimidating. Jaskier had felt the hands of terrifying men before. Tense fingers digging into his flesh, only tightening at his cries of pain. At the first sign he might have hurt Jaskier Geralt had let go like he had been burned. The rough man might not be very adept at interaction, but Jaskier had not felt such kind hands in a long time and now they were gone, along with his lute. 

The horse had dumped him on the main road, but it wasn’t the rough collision with the ground that took away his breath. He lay there on the road, fingers digging into the dirt, trying to ground himself. It felt like the world had been ripped out from under him. He wasn’t sure he could stand if he tried. The lute, his lute, his last link to his father, to his family... The tears that had dried up in fear came out from hiding but Jaskier couldn’t feel them streak down his face. He was numb. The setting sun was a ticking clock. If he didn’t head back now his disappearance would be noticed. Before the household was awake he had heated salted water and drenched himself, feigning fever when Bresth came in to check on his little lark. Bresth, of course, ordered bed rest and banished the rest of the servants from his room. The rough hands that had carded through his hair had actually made him feel nauseous but he had forced himself to preen under the attention. With one last caress Bresth promised to return after he was done with his tasks for the day. He had about an hour before Bresth returned to the estate. He would never see his lute again. The riverbank swelled at night, his lute would be carried down the river, lost forever. 

The kind hands that had saved him from death had taken away his family, he hated them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more Geralt/Jaskier fluff in the future chapters! This story is just requiring a lot more plot set up than I had originally thought necessary. T-T


	3. Entertainment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier gets invited to a party at the Witcher's fortress.

Geralt was slumped in his chair, one hand propping his head up as Eskel rambled about one thing or another. His fingers drummed a steady rhythm against his cheek, the light taps helping to keep him awake even as his eyes fluttered shut. It was tempting to keep them closed, especially since those captivating blue eyes would appear each time he allowed his mind to wander. It had been near a week since he had seen the boy but he could think of little else. Nobody had known anything about the lute nor the boy who had possessed it and with each passing day his annoyance grew. At first it was just a passing irritation at every meeting that lasted too long, every petty problem that ate into the time he had set aside to search for the bard. Slowly this irritation bloomed into something more, it was like his ears had been trained to respond only to the musical lilt of the boy’s voice, the harsh voices of his fellow Witchers grated against his ears and he had taken to locking himself away to restrain from shouting at them all to shut up. He wasn’t always successful in politely excusing himself and now every room he entered quickly emptied. No one was willing to be around the Witcher king while he was in his foul mood.

A loud snap jolted him from his thoughts and he focused back on Eskel. A deep moan rumbled from the man as he slid his hands across his face briskly trying to rub the frustration away. His hands dropped from his face to settle on his hips as he fixed Geralt with a mocking glare. 

“Seriously Geralt, just tell me who she is, I’ll arrange the poems and the flowers, hell, I’ll even arrange the wedding for you. Anything to get you to concentrate on your work so it would stop falling into my lap.” His voice turned pleading. “I’m drowning in it, while you are off daydreaming of some beautiful lass.”

The image of the boy standing in front of him, his eyes sparking playfully at him over a large bouquet of roses, stuck behind his drooping eyes and he could feel his face heat. Instead of rising to the bait he just shuffled the papers in front of him, trying to find some clue to the conversation he had been ignoring. 

“So..the trade routes-” He began when Eskel cut him off. 

“Monster hunting contracts.”

“Ah yes, the monster hunting contracts from…Sistra?”

Eskel sighed “From Ksleth.”

Geralt just buried his head in his hands, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m sorry Eskel, I haven’t been sleeping, every time I try to I-” He cut himself off, he couldn’t tell Eskel that he had been avoiding his bed with a ferver. How when he crawled into his bed the fur blanket beneath his fingers felt rough in comparison to the softness of the boy’s hair brushing against his neck, how the silken sheets couldn’t mimic the smoothness of the boy’s skin. How on the cusp of sleep he had imagined the boy there in the sheets with him, curled in his arms. What the imagined boy in his bed had done to him when he had succumbed to sleep that first night. His face darkened in shame. He had taken to sleeping in the armchair by his bed, his sleep fitful but thankfully devoid of the boy. His relief was short lived when the boy decided to follow him out of the bedroom and invade his every waking moment. He couldn’t even look out the window for fear the sparkling river was the same color as the boy’s eyes. 

Eskel was staring at him, obviously waiting for him to continue. When no further information was forthcoming, he just clasped Geralt’s shoulder. “Geralt, no girl in this kingdom would dream of rejecting you, nor any kingdom for that matter. But be warned, if this girl is special enough to have caught your eyes, the great spinster of the Witcher kingdom, then she will surely have caught other’s as well. You best hurry and snatch her up before someone else does.” Eskel stated wisely. 

Geralt hadn’t considered this, was the boy already spoken for? The thought of the bard smiling up at someone else, laughing with someone else, being _held_ by someone else made a low growl start to build in his chest. He swallowed it back down before it could reach his throat. He was being ridiculous, he hadn’t said more than a handful of words to the boy, didn’t even know his name and he was sitting here pining after him like he was a lovestruck maiden. It was ridiculous but he couldn’t deny his new obsession. There were drugs that could snare the user the first time they partook. He couldn’t deny he had been riding out a high ever since he met the boy. How every time he relapsed into the memory of that day the hit became more potent and he became more dependent. Was this how love was supposed to feel? The poems had made it seem more delicate, like a butterfly alighting on a flower.

Thankfully, Eskel decided he wasn’t going to get anything else out of Geralt on the matter. 

“So, as I was saying Ksleth hasn’t been keeping up on their payments. We’ve received a request to admit a delegation into our borders to discuss the treaty.”

“What’s there to discuss? They don’t pay, we don’t send Witchers, we don’t do charity.” Geralt stated firmly. Witchers didn’t hunt out of the kindness of their hearts, they weren’t heroes. 

“Yes, but I believe they mean to offer payment in the form of a trade deal, they wish to host the entertainment for the evening, most likely to soften us up before they make their proposal.”

Geralt leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. “What kingdom did we enter last week on the hunt?”

“I think we ended up in the outskirts of Ksleth but that shouldn’t come up in negotiations, we were well within our right to pursue the creature into their territory.” Eskel responded. 

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Fine, but I have a few requests.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jaskier sat stiffly in the carriage as it shuddered over the cobblestones marking the pathway into the Witcher’s fortress. Bresth sat across from him, eyes roaming over Jaskier from head to toe, searching for imperfections. This evening was important, vital to the survival of the kingdom if Bresth was to be believed. This “party” was meant to woo the Witcher king, to please him with an evening of entertainment and heavy drink in hopes he could be persuaded to accept a trade in lieu of some of the debt owed to the new kingdom. Jaskier wasn’t bothered by Bresth’s wandering eyes, he knew no fault would be found in his appearance. Small pearls had been woven into his hair, making it shimmer in the sunlight. Sapphires hung from his ears and glittered across his collar. To respect the Witcher culture he had been dressed in pure black clothing, yet, to Jaskier, it seemed a mockery as his apparel was anything but practical. Where the Witcher’s wore tight, thick armor to free their movements and protect against attacks, his shirt was loose and near iridescent, the soft silky material slipping off one shoulder exposing his delicate collarbone, teasing but not wholly indecent. While the black had washed out some of the other bards it contrasted sharply against his eyes, making the blue almost glow. The effect was almost unworldly.

Jaskier wondered almost off hand if he would see the Witcher from the woods. If he did see him, what he would feel. It had been hard to feel anything since he last saw the Witcher. Bresth’s roving eyes which would have previously sent shivers up his spine now seemed like they were fixed on someone else. Food had little taste, it felt like the last piece of himself he had been clinging to had been ripped away with the loss of the lute. He no longer had to play at being a doll, his soul was as hard and cold as porcelain. 

When the uncomfortable rattling settled and the clops of the horses hoofs across the cobblestone quieted, he exited the carriage as smooth and graceful as any noble. The towering fortress loomed against the cobalt sky, dark and imposing. Jaskier waited for Bresth to fumble out of the carriage, nearly toppling to the ground even with the coachman steadying him. Once he had righted himself, pulling his waistcoat smooth and slicking his hair, Bresth guided them into the lair of the “beasts.” 

There was a servant waiting for the party just inside the gate, leading them to the banquet hall. It was apparent the only preparation the Witchers had done for their arrival was to push the long tables to the sides of the room. No matter, if there was anything Kslethians were good at, it was throwing a party. The servants they had brought with them bustled quickly around the room, setting the tables with brightly colored cloths and extravagant foods. The dancers were herded to the center of the room and the platforms were erected for the musicians. By the time the Witchers began flooding the hall it had been transformed into something resembling a celebration. Jaskier looked around the room at the intricately woven tapestries maring the stone walls. Ever since he had met the Witcher in the woods he had started to recognize the beauty in simplicity, had started to ache for it. He wanted to tug the vibrant tapestry from the wall so he could stare at the simple stones, refusing to be crushed under the load they had been given. 

These thoughts fled his mind when he was given the signal to start his performance. Though the lute in his hands tried to rummage through his soul and pull out the sadness that was surely lurking there, he brushed away its attempts and his fingers lightly plucked out a jovial tune, a small smile frozen on his face. 

It was obvious whoever the Witcher king was he didn’t spend coin on the fine arts often as Jaskier had gathered quite the crowd of admirers. A possy of rugged men leaned against the platform talking. To an outside observer it might look like they were ignoring the entertainment in favor of conversation, but Jaskier noticed the way they would quiet when his lute joined in with the orchestra, how they stole glances, and it almost pulled a real smile from him. He had always loved attention.

He scanned the room when the musicians took a brief pause to rest their fingers, curious despite himself about this Witcher king who had Ksleth eating out of the palm of his hand. Instead he found amber. Jaskier had never understood how the slow moving sap from a tree could possibly catch the flitting bugs that so expertly avoided swatting hands. In this moment he understood. He could do nothing but watch as the amber stalked closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this pitiful excuse of a chapter, writers block hit me hard and fast. T-T


	4. Striking a deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt finds Jaskier and is less than pleased with Bresth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!!! You are all glorious wonderful people and I love and appreciate the comments and kudos :D. Hope you enjoy this next installment.

Geralt breathed in deeply, resting his forehead against the large wooden door that muffled the noises of the party on the other side. His limbs felt almost as heavy as the bags under his eyes. Another deep breath. He flicked the lock up with shaking hands, with anticipation or sleep deprivation he couldn’t be sure, and he pushed the heavy door open. His hall was marred with garash colors. Tasteless carpets had been thrown across the flooring and tapestries of reds, oranges and blues assaulted his eyes. Slitting his eyes against the abrasive decor, he followed the sound of music. Anticipation rose in his chest along with nausea. His bags were already packed and Roach had been saddled, if the boy wasn’t here he was going to scour the ends of the earth to find him, anything to get him out of his head. Eskel had walked in on him cinching the final bag closed and, after a long pondering look, had left without saying a word. The teasing had dried up a few days ago and Eskel had taken to casting worried glances his way. Judging by the amount of women packed into the hall, Eskel had invited all the eligible women in the fortress, probably hoping he would run into his lady-love and the matter would sort itself out. They had obviously been informed of his new interest in romance so escaping their grasp was harder than escaping the thorns of a bramble bush.

He still had a few clinging to his arms when he reached the raised platforms that housed the musicians. The sting of their sharp nails digging into his forearms faded away when he found the handsome boy from the woods transformed into a creature of legend. The draping black fabrics only served to highlight his delicate form instead of hiding it. The sapphire gems hanging from his ears couldn’t compare to the depth of the blue eyes that flicked to his. He didn’t even realize he was moving forward until he was at the base of the stage, staring up at the man that had stolen the past week of his life. There was a sheet of ice covering the eyes that hadn’t been there last week. He wanted to shatter it, commander an excavation to unearth the unfettered emotion that had shone in those eyes by the river. It took all his strength to tear his eyes away from the bard and reach into the pack he had shrugged from his shoulders.

“You know you are very hard to find.” He chuckled a little breathlessly, pulling the worn lute case from the pack. Now that he had escaped the gaze he was reluctant to meet it again, not sure he would have the willpower to tear himself away a second time. All it took was a whimper to break that resolve and he was once again fixated on the bard who was now staring at the case in his hands, the ice in his eyes had melted and now spilled down his cheeks. While he had longed to see the ice gone, the rivets of tears it left behind made his heart squeeze uncomfortably. He wanted to reach forward to wipe them away but his hands were full of the old lute and the boy had made no motion to take it away. Uncomfortably, he looked around to try to find somewhere safe to set it down but was halted in his efforts when his arms were suddenly full of a familiar warmth. Geralt let the pack drop to the floor and nudged the lute case onto the stage before wrapping his free arms around the young man. The rampant emotions and images that had been assaulting him since he had left the boy quieted and he let himself relax in the boy’s tenacious hold. His clothes bunched uncomfortably around his neck as the boy gripped large fistfuls at his back but rather than pull away he pushed himself closer, reveling in the hold the young man had on him. He leaned in further into the embrace running his hands up the boy’s back, longing to bury his fingers in the soft hair, but they caught against something at the neck. A warm band of metal secured with a latch. He explored it with one hand, not wanting to believe what it meant when suddenly the warmth was snatched from his arms. 

A stout man with cropped brown hair stood a few paces back, holding onto the boy by the collar Geralt had just been tracing moments before. He had the sturdy build of a man that might have been imposing a few years back but had obviously reaped the benefits of the Nilfgaardian invasion. A paunch had settled around his waist and it fought against the buttons that valiantly tried to preserve the man's decency. The sword belt had been hooked low on his hips and was almost obscured by the rotund belly. Geralt was under no illusion that the man didn’t know how to use the sword, but he was sure by the unevenness of the recent notches carved into the belt, that he would be at a disadvantage, never having fought with the extra weight before. The human body was made to adapt to changes, to roll with the punches. But just a few pounds could set the body off its rhythm. It was easy to spot recent weight gain in the way a lady’s hips would graze every so slightly against a table as she rounded a well known corner, or the way a man’s clothes might fit a bit too snug for any self respecting tailor to have made.

The man dragged the bard close to his face even as the boy tried to scramble back, fingers clutching at the hand around the collar. 

“What do you think you are doing you little whore, I’ve been so careful to keep you pristine and pure and the second I turn my back you try to cozy up to a filthy barbarian. Have you forgotten, I own you, ME. Nobody is allowed to touch you but ME.” spittle was flying from the man’s mouth at the force of his words, crazed eyes staring down at the young man in his grasp. “If you are that eager to hop into a bed, I’ve got a nice one you can warm when we get home.” At this he turned to drag the bard out of the room. 

Blood rushed hot and heavy through Geralt. His arms ached from the cold left in the bard’s wake, hands clenching at the empty air. The blood, excited by the sudden rush of adrenaline, roared in his ears but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the filth that spilled from the man’s mouth. Normally he’d be loath to spill blood inside the hall, but there were those hideous carpets to soak it up. 

Quick as a viper Geralt struck, crushing the man’s hand in his own, satisfied at the feeling of bones grinding together. The man dropped to the floor with a howl and the boy stumbled back into Geralt. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jaskier knew he had messed up when he felt the sweaty hand pull him from the Witcher’s embrace. He didn’t have to look up to know it was Bresth, but was forced to when Bresth wrapped his fingers around his collar and tugged up. Bresth had always been satisfied in knowing that Jaskier belonged to him and him only. He never had to further his claim because he was secure in that belief, and Jaskier had always been careful to never do anything to dissuade him from that. Falling into the Witcher’s arms had felt so natural but it was a mistake. One he was going to pay for. Jaskier knew this day would come, Bresth’s gaze had been hungrier as of late, his touches lingering longer each day. Finding him in someone else’s arms was apparently the last straw. He felt sickness crawl around his stomach and tears obscured his vision as he was dragged away.

When the pressure from his collar fell away he stumbled back into a firm chest and glanced up to see the Witcher glaring at Bresth on the floor. Without a word the Witcher grabbed his wrist and pulled him across the room toward the tables of food and drink where most of the Witchers and dignitaries had gathered, all struck silent by the scene that had played out in front of them. 

The Witcher practically dropped him into the lap of another man with a gruff “Watch him,” before he strode over to what appeared to be a councilman, if the fine clothes and the group of pandering dignitaries surrounding him was anything to go by. They spoke quietly but fervently. His Witcher slicing through the air with sharp gestures and the man he spoke to shaking his head in dismay. Jaskier jumped when he heard a low voice in his own ear, “Oh ho, this is going to be interesting. Wonder what you did to get Geralt in such a tizzy. Looks like Eskel’s paying for it too.” It was at this moment that he realized he was still sprawled across a stranger’s lap. He scrambled to get off the man but he just pulled him back gently, seating him on one of his legs like a small child.

A muffled shout drew his gaze from Geralt and he saw Bresth had pulled himself up from the floor and was marching in his direction. He shrank into the stranger’s embrace but Bresth was quickly obscured from his vision by a wall of flesh. The other Witchers who had been content watching the older man howling on the floor, surrounded Jaskier like a pack of wolves protecting their young. Stuck within the hoard of Witchers, the stranger kept him entertained by revealing and explaining the many different herbs and devices he kept in the pouches about his waist but Jaskier couldn’t concentrate, distracted by the low rumble of Geralt’s voice and the shrill shouting from Bresth. It seemed like an eternity before the wall of Witchers parted to let Geralt through, he entered the circle with the grace of a large cat, a self satisfied smirk painted across his face. He lifted Jaskier from the strangers lap and slung an arm around his shoulders, hand tensing in excitement when Eskel cleared his throat.

“Thank you all for coming and throwing this, uh, wonderful party… we have considered your amendment to the current contract and would like to propose a counter. We will forgive the current balance of your debt for this here...slave.” Eskel said, the word ripped reluctantly from his mouth as he gestured in Jaskier’s direction. 

Jaskier’s mouth fell open in surprise and he could practically feel Geralt purr in satisfaction. He shoved at Geralt to get his attention. 

“What are you doing?! Take it back!”

Geralt looked down at Jaskier’s protest in confusion, “You do not wish to be free from that...man?” Geralt looked unsure about using that word to describe Bresth. 

“You idiot, of course I don’t want to go back with him but we owe you a lot of money. I’m not nearly worth the balance of the debt, you can’t make this sort of decision without talking to the King first. I won’t let you get in trouble for me!” Jaskier tried to struggle from Geralt’s hold so he could salvage the situation but Geralt just draped himself more heavily over Jaskier. Jaskier could barely stand under the weight of the Witcher, let alone escape from under it. Geralt buried his head in Jaskier’s shoulder, “We don’t need the money.” 

The head of the delegation stepped forward looking confused. “I don’t understand, you wish to trade the debt for the entertainers?” 

Eskel turned to look questioningly at Geralt. Jaskier could feel Geralt nod his head once before Eskel continued. “Ah...yes, we want the enslaved entertainers.” Seeing the obviously powerful man look to Geralt for permission made Jaskier realize that Geralt held a more powerful position in the Witcher’s court than he realized. He probably had the authority to act on behalf of the king, even if his decisions left his sanity in question. 

The delegate wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth and quickly drew up the papers. With the final signature in place Jaskier felt a weight lift off his shoulders. His ownership might have changed hands but anything was better than serving his family's killer. After the papers were signed Geralt lifted his weight off and Jaskier wiggled out from under him. 

His head buzzed pleasantly even though he hadn’t drunk any alcohol. The prospect of no longer being beholden to Bresth wrapped around his mind like a warm blanket. Bresth seemed to have worn out his welcome as he was currently being held back by two Witchers, struggling in protest to losing his slave. Now that he was free from him, the porcelain doll fell away and all that was left was white hot rage. Not fully aware of himself anymore he marched up to the restrained man and slammed his fist into his cheek. While it was satisfying to see Bresth cower under the force of his fist, he was not expecting the blossoming of pain that started at his knuckles and traveled up his arm.

“Oh fuckin’ shit!!!!!” He hissed out from clenched teeth as he collapsed to the floor gripping his fist. “What the fuck!” Tears gathered at his eyes as the pain radiated up and down his arm. He felt more than saw Geralt kneel down beside him. Geralt pulled his fist out from where it was tucked against his side and ran his fingers firmly across it. 

“Not broken.” He stated and then with more amusement asked, “Was that satisfying?” His face darkened slightly, “Did he deserve it?”

Jaskier unclenched his jaw enough to answer, “That and more.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bresth had just regained his feet from his second collapse of the night. His crushed hand and split cheek throbbed in tandem. Surrounded by Witchers who were armed to the teeth, he knew he wouldn’t get away with beating the little traitor for his insolence. Bresth was about to slink out of the room to lick his wounds when a shadow fell across his back. He looked up to see the stormy face of the Witcher who had taken his slave. The amber eyes glinted with the promise of death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised fluff and it has been few and far between up until this point. But I have great plans for fluff in the next few chapters :D. So if you are just here for the fluff, here it comes.


	5. Stubborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt deals with a stubborn Jaskier and fluff ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE FLUFF HAS ARRIVED!!! I love and appreciate all of the comments so thank you for taking the time to leave them :D Hope you enjoy the fluffiness that is this chapter.

The large black stone walls that had merrily echoed the music from the gathering fell into a sobering silence as the diplomats gathered their gaudy furnishings and made a hasty retreat from the Witcher fortress. Geralt had stayed long enough to position Jaskier’s tender hand into an arc over his head with a firm command to keep it there before he too was swept away with Eskel to see off the retreating diplomats. Jaskier was left leaning up against the now achingly silent stone, one hand clenched around his father’s lute, the other awkwardly elevated above his head, already swelling into a dark purple. The other Witchers had all dispersed from the room, snatching the remaining food from the tables, whatever did not fit in their mouths was shoved into their pockets. While none of the Witchers stopped to chat, likely too busy trying not to choke on the impressive amount of food wedged in their mouths, they all gave Jaskier strange sidelong looks as they passed by. With the scene he had made moments before, he would have been surprised if they weren’t a little curious. 

A few servants came and collected the other musicians who had been traded and hastened them away down a narrow hallway. Jaskier had tried to follow but was pressed back against the wall firmly by one of the servants. “Not you,” was the only explanation he got before he was left alone in the hall. The silence seeped into his skin and settled on his bones. Even in the earliest hours at Bresth’s estate there was always some sort of commotion, cats scrabbling after rats in the hallway or servants sneaking about into others rooms for private liaisons. He loathed the silence. As if sensing his discomfort, the large fire that still burned within the hearth let out a few hearty pops, but they only echoed weakly throughout the hall before they died out. Not to be outdone the fire valiantly puffed out plums of smoke in its effort to heat the room, but the cold from the stone soaked through his thin clothes chilling his skin. 

He shivered slightly and was tempted to creep toward the blazing fire but the chill of the stone pleasantly cooled the throbbing in his hand. He waited, and while he waited he fretted. He had been sold to the king, and while that got him far out of the reaches of Bresth, he had no idea what sort of person could hold the title of Witcher king. He must be a fearsome thing to behold. It was too much to hope for that he would be anything like Geralt, kind hands somehow uncorrupted by the power they wielded. If he were lucky, he would be placed with the servants and sent to work in the kitchen or to tend the stables. He looked down at his soft hands, unpracticed at maintaining a household. They might have allowed him to provide services through music but in the bargain the Witchers only got the slaves, not their accessories. The instruments had followed the diplomats out the door. Most of the other slaves had been stripped of all adornments before they were thrust in the direction of the Witcher hoard. Jaskier was left untouched, none of the dignitaries brave enough to approach the slave while he had a large Witcher wrapped around him. He still wasn’t sure how Geralt had managed to keep his father’s lute out of the grubby hands of the retreating party, but when he had pressed it into Jaskier’s hands, he was too overcome with gratitude to think to ask.

If he was unlucky he might just find himself jumping out of one frying pan into another. Pressing his burning hand more firmly against the cool wall he sighed, wishing Geralt would come back soon.

Seeing off the dignitaries must have been a lengthy affair as the minutes ticked by with no news, Jaskier slowly slid to the floor, and then, against his will, slowly slid into sleep. He woke up to a slight swaying motion and jolted in panic, nearly throwing himself out of Geralt’s arms and onto the unforgiving floor. 

“Gah!” He shouted as he felt himself slipping from the hands that gripped his shoulders and waist. Luckily, Geralt had quick reflexes and was able to catch his flailing body before his face could greet the ground. Jaskier relaxed when he saw the amber eyes peering down at him.

“Geez Geralt, maybe try to wake someone up before you decide to kidnap them.” He chastened, clutching at Geralt.

Geralt quickly moved to lower him to the floor but Jaskier wasn’t ready to give up his warm ride and snuggled closer to Geralt’s chest, refusing to give up his grip on the Witcher.

“Nope,” he yawned loudly, “If I am to be kidnapped you’d best do it properly.” He expected a sigh, he expected a protest, what he didn’t expect was the Witcher to pull the fur from around his shoulders and wrap it around Jaskier before shifting his hold on Jaskier so he was cradled more firmly against his chest. The swaying started back up again. It was toasty between the soft fur at his back and the furnace of a Witcher at his chest but the flailing earlier had set his hand throbbing again. What little sleep he still clung too was swiftly scared away by the angry pounding of his hand. 

“Geralt?” He questioned. Geralt grunted in return but Jaskier took that as a sign to continue. 

“Where are we going?”

“To bed.” Geralt replied. When nothing more was forthcoming Jaskier sighed into the Witchers neck in frustration and was surprised when he felt a shiver run up the Witchers arms. He guiltily looked at the soft fur Geralt had given up to keep him warm. He tried to adjust his position in Geralt’s arms so that he could wrap the fur around them both but only succeeded in kneeing Geralt in the gut. A soft oof was the only acknowledgement he got from Geralt at the unintended assault and his guilt doubled down. Before he could apologize, Geralt shifted Jaskiers weight onto one hip and opened a large wooden door at the end of the hallway.

Geralt was indeed someone very important. The door opened up to a large foyer, a servant was on the floor stoking the fire in the hearth. When the servant heard the door opening she jumped to her feet and performed a hasty curtsy before slipping out of the room behind them. Near the head of the room was a large desk piled high with what looked to be important documents. As Gerlat walked past, Jaskier caught a glimpse of the one on top, it looked to be some sort of trade agreement. So maybe Geralt was an advisor? The thought conflicted harshly with the image of Geralt he had in his mind. Geralt seemed like someone who would get advice rather than give it. The next room he led them into was the bedroom, almost as large as the foyer, this too had a well attended fire crackling in the wall. The bed was big enough to fit four men, or maybe two Witchers, but appeared to be untouched. A large armchair was dragged next to the bed and had two large blankets thrown over the arm. Geralt gently lowered him onto the bed and took a few steps back, standing there awkwardly. 

“Am I to stay here tonight then?” Jaskier guessed. 

Geralt jerkily nodded his head.

“And you will be staying….” Jaskier prodded. 

Geralt waved his hand vaguely toward the corner of the room, there were two closed doors in that direction and, with the size of the rooms he had seen so far, Jaskier wasn’t surprised there would be another bedroom connected to this one. Jaskier clothes were soft enough to sleep in but the jewelry was not. He deftly pulled the sapphires from his ears and unlatched the collar, setting them on the bedside table before burrowing into the plush furs that blanketed the bed. He peeked out of the pile of furs to see Geralt still standing there awkwardly.

“Goodnight.” Jaskier smiled sweetly, hoping to prompt whatever it was the Witcher wanted to say out of him. Geralt just nodded and picked up the armchair that was seated next to the bed, dragging it across the room and setting it up in the corner he had gestured to before. He then folded himself into the chair and pulled the draped furs around himself. He could not have looked more uncomfortable if he tried. The way his neck was bent to the side was sure to cripple him in the morning and Jaskier just stared at him with his mouth agape. He couldn’t be serious. 

“Geralt…” Jaskier started, not sure how to even deal with the ridiculousness of the situation in front of him. Geralt’s eyes slitted back open. “I didn’t realize...you don’t have to.”

Geralt just shuffled the blankets more firmly around himself. “It’s fine. Go to bed.” His tone was dismissive but Jaskier could feel his muscles tightening in sympathy at the contorted position Geralt was in. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. This bed is more than big enough for the both of us, get over here before you hurt yourself.”

“No. Go to bed.”

Jaskier felt anger well up in his chest at the stubborn fool. “Well if you are so set on being uncomfortable all night then so am I.” He grabbed the fur that Geralt had wrapped around him earlier and strutted over to the armchair. Geralt looked down at him and the fur in confusion. Jaskier just shoved at his shoulder, “Go on, make room.”

“What?” Geralt managed to choke out before he got a lapful of Jaskier. Jaskier attempted not to kick or knee any of Geralt’s more sensitive parts while he made himself comfortable in Geralt’s lap. While the armchair wasn’t nearly big enough for Geralt, the both of them were practically spilling out. But Jaskier could be stubborn too. 

“Goodnight.” Jaskier said with finality before closing his eyes, drifting off quickly on the surprisingly comfortable bed Geralt made. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gerlat went to work early, trying to clear some of the matters that had built up over the past week. His blurred eyes made the words on the paper dance together and he rubbed over them once more in frustration. While Jaskier’s little rebellion had been sweet it had ultimately been in vain as the second Jaskier fell asleep Geralt just carried him back to bed and set himself up again in the armchair. The painful crick in his neck had become commonplace and he barely noticed it anymore. He had been tempted to take up Jaskier’s offer to share the bed, even more tempted to keep him wrapped in his arms in the chair all night, but when he thought back to what Bresth had said he knew he could never take advantage of him in that way. Just having Jaskier nearby was enough. It would have to be enough.

Eskel slipped into the office and eyed his rumpled state speculatively. 

“Shove off Eskel, it’s not what you think.”

“So he isn’t that same boy by the river, the one you’ve been mooning over for the past month?” He stated with a satisfied grin, proud at himself for having figured it out.

Geralt just glared at him. 

“Yes, yes, very intimidating. Now tell me, are we to expect an announcement anytime soon?”

Geralt spluttered, “What? No!”

“Ah I see, so we just traded a king’s ransom for some toy to warm your bed?”

Geralt stood up swiftly, towering over Eskel, “No,” He said deathly low. “He’s not some _toy_ and he’s not warming my bed!”

Eskel just glanced over toward the door and then motioned as if he was going to open it. 

Geralt quickly corrected, “Well yes he is in my bed but he is not _in_ my bed.”

“That clears everything up then.” Eskel deadpanned. 

Geralt just growled, frustrated. He was too tired to deal with this. He shoved Eskel, who was too incapacitated with laughter to put up a real fight, out the door and slammed it shut in his face. Unable to help himself now that he was already up, he slowly opened the bedroom door and peeked in at Jaskier, only able to see the fluff of brown hair over the pile of furs, gently rising up and down with his slow breaths. He padded softly across the room until he was by the bedside, brushing the soft hair out of Jaskier’s face. He knew what he wanted, what his heart and body both ached for, but it was something he would never have, something Jaskier would never offer, and something he refused to take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got an idea of where I want to take this but love to hear everyone's suggestions with what they want to see!


	6. The King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier learns the identity of the King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Happy Halloween!
> 
> Thanks for continuing to follow this story, you all are the best :D

The morning had come and gone without further distraction. In an uncharacteristically good mood, Geralt propped his feet up on his desk and rocked back in his chair. The early afternoon sun warmly caressed his face and the smell of fresh pine rode the wind, filling the large room with it’s brisk scent. Eskel was going to be quite pleased, the knowledge that Jaskier rested safe just beyond the door had settled his mind in a way it hadn’t been for weeks. The paperwork that had seemed overwhelming just a few hours ago was quickly dwindling and Geralt decided he had earned another break. With great satisfaction he pushed his chair back across the floor and stood. The muscles that had tightened as he hunched over the desk twinged as he stretched his arms over his head and arched his back. The muscles quieted their protests at the welcome movement. Geralt moved toward the door to his bedroom, as he had done at least a dozen times that morning, but paused with his hand on the doorknob. The sound of shuffling blankets and sheets from the adjacent room had Geralt rushing back to his seat. Roughly combing his hands through his hair he adopted a stern considering look as he pretended to peruse over the papers in front of him while his body buzzed in excitement. 

He could hardly keep himself from jumping to his feet as he heard the door to the bedroom squeak open. Stealing a look out of the corner of his eyes and saw Jaskier dragging himself into the room. His hair was disheveled, sticking up in all directions like a porcupine and his face was covered by his hands, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. The fur Geralt had wrapped him in last night was loosely draped over his shoulders and spilled down his back to drag across the floor behind him. In all, he looked adorably rumpled. When the hands finally dropped from his face, only partially succeeding in banishing the sleep from his eyes, he blurrily looked around the room. 

Spying Geralt, his face lit up into a wide grin, “Geralt!”

As he beelined to Geralt’s side, his feet grew tangled in the draping fur and he almost face planted into Geralt’s lap. Geralt reached out and caught his arms in a firm grip, steadying him. In the light of the day, holding Jaskier seemed much more innocent than the night before so he allowed his hands to linger, it was a mistake. Jaskier’s face was only inches from Geralt’s and he could feel Jaskier’s breath ghosting across his lips. Like the night before, the breath of air sent shivers crawling up his back and he had to resist physically shuddering with pleasure. 

Up close, Jaskier’s face looked even more ephemeral in its perfection. The skin was unblemished and smooth, only obscured by locks of soft hair, dragging across the skin lighter than an artist's brush. Geralt longed to press closer, to lick at the plush lips to see if they tasted like the mint he could smell on his breath. A light knock at the door distracted the devilish temptations long enough for him to wrangle them into submission and he quickly released Jaskier from his grasp. 

The door opened before he could tell them to go away and Lambert barged in. “Geralt! News from the docks.”

At the suddenness of the entry, Jaskier pressed against Geralt’s side clutching at his shirt, like he was trying to hide in Geralt’s shadow. Geralt wrapped a comforting arm around the bard before waving the Witcher to continue. The silent command went unnoticed as, by this point, Lambert was no longer looking at Geralt but at the little bard fused to his side. He strode forward and peeled Jaskier off of Geralt.

“This is the bard from last night isn’t it?” He tilted Jaskier’s head up so he could get a better look. “He’s quite pretty, and, as we saw last night, a riot at parties.” Lambert grinned at his little joke. “Can we keep him?”

Jaskier was jerking back, trying to escape Lambert’s firm hold but Lambert didn’t even seem to notice the pitiful attempts. What he did notice was the steel grip of his King descending on his shoulders and practically popping one of his arms out of his socket with the force of the grip. Lambert quickly released the bard and took a few steps away. 

“Ah, I didn't mean to overstep, of course it is the King's decision who is allowed to stay at the fortress.” Lambert backpedaled. 

Geralt moved in front of Jaskier, effectively blocking him from Lambert’s view and folded his arms in front of his chest, glaring at the other Witcher. “The bard is not, and will never be, any of your concern. Do you understand?” He snarled. 

Lambert examined Geralt’s protective stance carefully before adopting a lazy smile. “I see, so sex is completely off the table?”

“Lambert!” Geralt warned. 

Lambert held his hands up placatingly. “I understand, I’ll just leave that to the King,” Lambert said with a wicked smile. He was out the door before Geralt could get his hands around his neck. A few moments later he peeked his head back into the doorway long enough to say, “the dockmaster needs to see you regarding the most recent shipment of weapons. It appears we’ve been shorted,” before he was gone again. 

Geralt turned to find Jaskier looking at the floor, face flushed pink with embarrassment. Geralt knelt down on the floor, trying to catch Jaskier’s eye. “Don’t worry over Lambert, he’s an ass.”

Jaskier nodded, fidgeting restlessly like he was trying to make his mind up about something. It was painful to watch. Finally he just blurted it out. “Please don’t make me see the King today! I don’t think I’m ready.”

“Jaskier-”

“It’s not that I’m not grateful, It’s just I’ve never..I’m not…” Jaskier blushed even harder. 

“Jaskier, Lambert was trying to rile me up, none of what he said means anything.” 

Jaskier didn’t look like believed him. He just pulled the fur tighter around himself. “Please can I just stay with you today?”

Geralt sighed, “Of course you can stay with me today, but it is going to be fairly boring, I have quite a bit of paperwork to get through.” He said gesturing to the remaining stacks of letters and notes piled on his desk. 

Jaskier perked up, “That’s okay! I don’t mind paperwork.” He climbed up into Geralt’s seat and tucked his bare feet underneath him. Geralt just watched as he pulled the contract on top closer and started skimming it, his tongue stuck out of the side of his mouth in concentration, it was adorable. Jaskier turned to look at the back of the paper in confusion and then over to Geralt. 

“Where’s the rest of it.” He questioned. 

Gerlat was broken out of his musings “Where is the rest of what?”

“The contract, where is the rest of it?”

Geralt looked at Jaskier in confusion, “That is the rest of it.”

Jaskier looked down at the contract again, picking up the quill and starting scribbling notes in the margin and crossing out whole paragraphs. 

“Hey!” Geralt shouted. This was one of the contracts he had reviewed this morning and had already signed. He lurched to his feet and stomped over to the desk, reaching out to pull the contract out from under Jaskier but Jaskier just swatted him away and kept tearing it apart. He pulled another contract out from the pile and shoved it in Geralt’s direction, “Here, you take a look at this one.” Geralt looked down at the piece of paper in his hands, he had, in fact, already taken a look at this particular piece of paper just that morning so he just placed it back onto the pile of “finished” agreements. Geralt watched as Jaskier slowly undid all of the work he had accomplished that morning but Jaskier looked so pleased with himself he didn’t have the heart to force the paper away from him. He just pulled the armchair from the bedroom into his office and watched Jaskier tear into the pile of completed contracts with glee. Maybe Eskel wouldn’t be so pleased after all. 

Jaskier was so entranced by his new self-appointed task that he didn’t notice when Geralt snuck out into the hallway, making sure to lock the door behind him. He wandered down to the kitchens, requesting food be brought up to the room and then down to the docks to deal with the problem Lambert had mentioned earlier. By the time he made it back to the rooms, Jaskier had ink splattered all over his hands and some rubbed across his face and contracts were scattered over every surface. He brought in the baskets of food that had been left outside the door but couldn’t find anywhere to put them down that wouldn’t smudge the fresh ink on the papers. 

Jaskier jumped out of Geralt’s seat and carefully made his way over to Geralt, avoiding the scattering of papers across the floor. “Where did you go? I finished the first stack but figured you would want to go through them together before we got started on the second.”

Looking at the damage that had been wrought Geralt internally sighed, “No, I think we’ve done enough for the day.” He could have a scribe work on rewriting what was still legible on the contracts throughout the night and he would just resign the contracts tomorrow morning. Eskel could wait one more day for his precious treaties and agreements. 

Jaskier looked a bit disappointed at Geralt’s lack of enthusiasm but didn’t press the subject. “So...what else did you have planned for the day?”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jaskier was elated, Geralt had taken him shopping. Well, what constituted shopping in the fortress anyway. Jaskier walked into the bedroom exhausted but satisfied. Geralt entered in after him with an armload of clothing and other baubles. The marketplace had been fascinating and Geralt seemed to buy whatever caught Jaskier’s eye. He had tried to stop him in the beginning but noticed that Geralt just doubled back to purchase the items in secret anyway. The second load was going to be brought up by the servants later. Geralt dumped the pile of clothing on the dresser and started to look around. Jaskier slipped into the furs, having already changed into more comfortable clothing during the shopping trip. His bedclothes wouldn’t be ready for a few days so he made do with soft shirts and loose pants for now. 

Geralt was now scouring through the adjacent rooms with a ferver and Jaskier was trying not to laugh beneath the blankets. 

“Jaskier.”

“Yes?” Jaskier answered innocently, staying under the covers so his face couldn’t give his mirth away. 

“Where is it?”

“Where is what?” At this he couldn’t help but let out a small giggle. 

Geralt pulled the furs down from Jaskier’s face and stared down at him seriously. 

“Where is the chair.”

“Oh come on Geralt, that chair is a death sentence, just get in bed.” Jaskier huffed. 

When Geralt recoiled at the suggestion Jaskier felt a pang in his heart. What was so wrong with him that Geralt was so disgusted at the idea of sharing a bed with him. He reached out from beneath the blanket and captured one of Geralt’s hands before he could get too far away. He looked down at their joined hands, not brave enough to look Geralt in the eye when he asked “Is it because I’m a slave?” Jaskier’s eyes filled with tears, he had never felt more free, had never felt more human than when he was with Geralt. He wasn’t sure he could take it if Geralt shattered that illusion. His heart clenched painfully when he felt Geralt pull his hand out of his own. The tears spilled down his face, dripping onto the furs below. He startled when a rough hand brushed the tears from one of his cheeks. Geralt was kneeling beside the bed, looking up at him with soft amber eyes. 

“Jaskier, I didn’t purchase you, I bought your freedom. You are no more a slave than I am.” 

“But, the King-”

Geralt shook his head in frustration, “I am the King.”

Jaskier wasn’t sure what reaction Geralt was expecting to get from his sudden declaration but it sure wasn’t a pillow to the face. His heart that had retracted in rejection now pounded in rage. The tear streaks felt like foreign invaders on the snarl his face was drawn into. 

“You-you fool!” He punctuated the yell with another pillow thrown at the Witcher. “You selfish, ignorant ASS!” Another pillow thrown. The Witcher on the floor wasn’t even trying to dodge the projectiles, letting them softly hit his face and fall to the floor. When Jaskier finally ran out of pillows he just sat there trembling in rage. How dare he. Jaskier had been sick with worry this whole time and Geralt had been keeping these life altering tidbits to himself. Was this some sick game to him?! Jaskier wanted to throw something more damaging than a pillow but the confused, startled expression on the Witcher’s face stopped him. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Geralt sat there on the floor, surrounded by pillows, more confused than he had ever been in his life. What had he done wrong? He thought he was delivering good news. Jaskier just sat on the bed, silent. After all the shouting the quiet was terrifying. After a few moments Jaskier pointed at the bed, “Get in.”

Geralt tried to protest but Jaskier just shot a glare at him that would have had any creature running in terror. Geralt quickly slid into the bed as far away from Jaskier as possible. There were no tempting thoughts that night, just overwhelming guilt as he felt the bed tremble with Jaskier’s silent sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So work is really going to ramp up over the next few months. I'll try to update regularly but if I miss a few weeks I promise it doesn't mean I'm abandoning the story.


	7. Broken Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eskel find himself cleaning up another of Geralt's messes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry it has been so long but I am hoping to update more regularly from here on out :D

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jaskier didn’t sleep that night, too overcome with emotion to settle down. Every surge of anger he had locked behind a strained smile, every sob he had swallowed over the years seemed to have broken free and were now running rampant through his body. He tried to shoo them back into the corners of his mind where they belonged but they refused to budge, so instead he bit deep into his lower lip to muffle the watery gasps, dug his blunt fingernails into his palm to stifle his anger with sharp pain. 

Trust. Such a simple concept, one which Jaskier had long since abandoned. Trust was for the weak, those so pitiful they had to rely on others because they could not survive on their own merit. Jaskier might not be physically strong but he was not helpless, he did what he needed to in order to survive. Yet, there was something about Geralt, something strong, steadying that made Jaskier want to rely on him, want to trust him when he knew he shouldn’t. He clutched at his hair in self-loathing, how many times would he need to learn this lesson? The baker with the wide smile who gave extra treats only to reveal his wandering hands behind closed doors, the friendly neighborhood boys who threw rocks when no one was looking, everyone was false, everyone was treacherous. This Witcher was no exception.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The gods hated him. He had begun to suspect it when Geralt was appointed as king and he had been bullied into his current position of advisor and now he was certain. There was no other explanation for why Geralt felt the need to take the neat stack of contracts Eskel had left on his desk the other day and murder them, decorating the room with their corpses. Blessedly, one of the stacks was left untouched on Geralt’s desk. Eskel sighed as he knelt down to start collecting the massacred documents. With disgust he noticed some of them were sticky with what appeared to be jelly. Not for the first time he wondered if the kingdom would collapse if he were to quit. He loved Geralt, he really did, and he would defend his king to his death, but Geralt’s inability to complete paperwork would be the death of him. He blindly reached under the desk to feel for any abandoned sheets and grabbed something warm and soft instead. A shaky gasp had him jerking his hand back and scrambling back a few paces. He lowered himself slowly to the floor so he could peer underneath the wooden desk, his eyes easily adjusting to the deep shadows, revealing the huddled form of the little bard. Dark circles clung underneath his eyes and tears hovered at the corners. 

Much as he would love to stay out of whatever was going on here, it had become a habit to try and clean up the messes Geralt inevitably got himself into with his gruff, taciturn attitude.

“Ah..kid.” Eskel said sympathetically, reaching out towards the young man. The bard froze at the movement, tracking the hands with his eyes but not moving away as Eskel settled it gently on his shoulder. Eskel would have taken this as a good sign but the shoulder did not relax under his grip, if anything the bard became even more tense, his breath even more ragged, like the hand was restraining him rather than resting lightly on his shoulder. Eskel let the hand fall away awkwardly, again the bard didn’t move, just stared at him with unconcealed suspicion, taut as a bowstring. The only movement was the slow descent of a tear down the bard’s cheek. 

Eskel cleared his throat, “You know who I am?” There was no response. 

“What are you doing under the table?” The bard kept his eyes trained on Eskel’s face flicking back and forth between his eyes but made no move to respond. This was getting them nowhere. 

Eskel shifted back until he was sitting comfortably against the wall a few feet away from the bard, legs crossed in front of him. He could feel the bard’s suspicious eyes boring into him but he ignored them, flicking his hand to light a candle above him and pulling out some of the papers from under his arm. He hoped that if he pretended to ignore the bard long enough, he might relax a little bit and be willing to answer some questions. His eyes dragged unseeing over the marred papers in front of him, all other senses focused solely on the huddled form under the table. It was useless trying to guess what Geralt might have done to upset the little bard, Geralt probably didn’t know himself. He was smart and capable in everything but connecting to those around him. He had had such high hopes when he saw the instant connection between the two men. Just a few hours prior Eskel had seen Jaskier pulling Geralt through the marketplace jabbering on about something or another with Geralt staring at him wistfully, like Jaskier alone kept the world turning. Geralt was too hard on himself, hated the way people saw him and tended to push people away before they had a chance to do the same to him. The adoration he had seen in Geralt’s eyes apparently wasn’t enough to counteract his self-sabotaging attitude. Eskel realized he had been staring at the same word for some time, distracted by his thoughts, and quickly flipped to another page, hoping the bard didn’t notice. 

He risked a quick glance under the table to check on the bard and was caught by those bright blue orbs. Jaskier was staring at him expectantly, what the bard wanted from him he wasn’t sure. But when he put down the stack of papers he had been pretending to read the bard looked disappointed for some reason. At least the boy wasn’t crying anymore, instead he just looked drained. Eskel turned towards the bard but kept his distance, not wanting to spook the kid again. 

“You know he didn’t mean it.” Eskel said softly. The boy stiffened at those words. “Whatever he said, whatever he did, I _know_ he didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Eskel let those words settle for a bit, he could tell the bard was mulling them over.

“Does that make it alright?” The bard asked quietly. From anyone else the question might have sounded rhetorical but there was no sarcasm in the quivering voice. That more than anything made the advisor hesitate and think carefully before answering. 

“No,” Eskel sighed, “That does not make it alright.” He got to his feet and dusted himself off. “Well, I am headed off to bed, I suggest you do the same.” He walked over to the door and opened it, glancing behind him expecting the bard to be right behind him but he was still under the table, staring uncertainly at the door to Geralt’s bedroom. 

“Aren’t you coming?” He asked gently.

The bard stared up at him in confusion, “Coming where?”

“To your room of course.”

“My room?”

Eskel could have strangled Geralt. The taciturn idiot, he wondered what else the King had conveniently “forgotten” to mention to the bard.

He motioned to the bard, “Grab your things, I’ll show you where it’s at.” And if Geralt wakes up confused and panicked finding his bard has vanished, well...karma’s a bitch. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Geralt woke in utter bliss. The furs were tucked around his body, sealing in the heat against the brisk morning air, his head buried in the soft pillows that he had denied himself for near a month. He uncurled and stretched his legs across the length of the bed, almost groaning in satisfaction at the pleasant burning across his muscles. The room was starting to brighten with the rising sun, Geralt flipped onto his stomach and wrapped his arms around the plush pillow, not ready to start the day yet. For the first time in weeks he was warm, comfortable and... utterly alone. Most of the blankets ended up on the floor as he practically leapt from the bed, ignoring the chill air that assaulted his exposed skin. Where was Jaskier?! The side of the bed that the bard had occupied last night was woefully empty and a brief search around his quarters confirmed that the bard had left. Or was taken. He shoved that particular thought deep into the recesses of his mind and locked it away, not wanting to entertain the possibility.

While the Witchers’ territory was one of the safest areas in the continent, Witchers were by nature vigilant. No unvetted soul would be able to make it within 50 feet of the building without being apprehended. If Jaskier left the fortress, someone would have noticed. Although there was very little chance of Jaskier encountering anything dangerous in the woods surrounding the fortress, Geralt had little faith that the bard could last the night alone in the woods now that winter was coming fast. Summer had overstayed its welcome this year and Winter was not pleased. Fall was the true victim of Summer’s greed. A few nights back a chill spread over the lands and the flowers and greenery that had thrived under Summer’s protection were dead by morning. There was no graceful changing of the seasons, no final splash of color to bid farewell to Summer, no rains to wash away the rotting foliage. Everything had been frozen, captured in its suffering until Spring. Frost had settled on the windowsill in his office that he had forgotten to close in the aftermath of last night's...incident. 

Geralt moved quickly to the dresser, plucked the first shirt and pants he found and dressed quickly. His heart sank further when he noticed the clothes he had unceremoniously dumped on top of his dresser last night were gone. 

He burst into Eskel’s room without so much as a knock. “Eskel, he’s gone! We have to find him.”

“Geralt-”

“Every available Witcher needs to be out scouring the woods.”

“Geralt”

“Oh God, what if he froze to death last night while I slept in!” Geralt was pacing back and forth across the room, eyes fixed unseeing on the floor. 

“Geralt!” This time his name was punctuated with a loud slam of Eskel’s hand on the table. 

Geralt looked up to see Eskel’s bored expression as he shoved another plate full of food toward the bard that was sitting across from him. Jaskier looked startled enough for the both of him, his eyes wide at Geralt's sudden appearance and then darted away uncomfortably to look down at the bread he still had in his hands. Geralt’s heart sang and wailed simultaneously, both broken by the way Jaskier avoided his gaze and healed at the sight of his bard safe and warm. Both of Jaskier’s cheeks were stuffed with food, but at the sight of Geralt it was painfully swallowed down. The bread he had obviously been eating with gusto a few minutes before was now being picked apart by nervous fingers. 

He turned from Jaskier back towards Eskel. 

Completely unaffected by the tension swirling about the room Eskel said cheerfully “Why don’t you join us, we were just having a bit of breakfast.”

Like Geralt, Eskel’s chambers included a meeting room with a large round wooden table in the center for council meetings.

“Jask-” Geralt was interrupted by the loud screeching of Jaskier’s chair being pushed across the floor. 

“Thank you for your assistance Eskel, I think I will be going to finish getting settled in **my** rooms.” While the words were spit forcefully in Geralt’s direction, Geralt didn’t miss the way Jaskier shrank away when he passed the Witcher to exit the room. 

The second the door closed behind him Geralt dropped his head to the table and groaned miserably. 

“Trouble in paradise?” Eskel asked, Geralt could hear the smile in his tone and he hated him for it. 

“He hates me.” Geralt stated miserably.

“What did you do?” Eskel asked.

“I’m sure you know better than I do.” Geralt seethed, gesturing around the room that was thick with Jaskier’s scent. 

“Jaskier was remarkably discrete with your indiscretions. So first you are going to tell me who taught you diplomacy behind my back and then you are going to tell me exactly how you fucked up and we are going to see if we can’t fix it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot more Jaskier/Geralt time in the coming chapters :)

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is kinda just to set up the story, hoping to put lots of fluff in the future chapters :)


End file.
